


Thou Shalt Not Covet

by icyvanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (ONLY BECAUSE OF HIS DAD-he gets over it quickly), Also she and Seamus are buddies, Angst, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Seamus Finnigan, Getting Together, Hermione is all-knowing, Homophobia, Homophobic Dad, I pinky promise I will update this, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, The sex is in later chapters, bisexual Dean Thomas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icyvanity/pseuds/icyvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Seamus' relationship through the last four years at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 4

It started in fourth year—the Yule Ball to be precise. Though they tried, Harry Potter and his dorm mates couldn’t get dates outside of Hogwarts’ walls.

Dean Thomas had finally started to notice the contours of a body, things he hadn’t paid attention to before—arms covered with thick cords of muscle, the curvature of a bum, a sharp jawline here and there, collarbones jutting out over cleavage and pectoral muscles alike. One person he noticed more about was his best mate.

Seamus Finnigan, ever short and stocky, with more freckles after each summer and a deeper voice that sent thrills through Dean’s entire body when it rose higher whenever he asked, “ _What’re ya lookin at, Thomas?_ ”

Dean had grown taller and taller, lean muscle covering every inch of him (even despite the contests he and Seamus challenged each other to too often—most recently “ _I swear on me mam’s life ya can’t eat that entire plate o’ pasties._ ” “ _You’re on, Finnigan._ ”)

Dean wasn’t the only one to notice Seamus that year. They heard the girls whispering about the both of them as they strutted about the school, saw the stares they got.

Lavender Brown was the bravest.

Sidling up to where Dean and Seamus lounged in the common room one night, she got his attention with an, “Oi, Finnigan.”

“Lavender,” he had replied with a smile, leaning his head back over the back of the sofa to look at her; Dean carefully averted his eyes from the expanse of neck the movement exposed.

“Would you like to go to the ball with me?” Lavender asked, lips a sultry curve.

Missing a beat, Seamus’ smile faltered for a moment. “Me?” he asked, Dean the only one to notice his uncharacteristic hesitation to be anything other than surprise.

“Yes, you, you _git_ ,” Lavender replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world to understand. Dean certainly got it. He felt a tightening in his chest at the very thought of Seamus with Lavender, something he had never experienced before about anyone. Seamus looked over at him, and Dean’s smile must have been convincing enough that he turned back towards her with his easy grin back in place.

“Maybe I won’t if you’re not a right bit nicer,” he chuckled, but accepted all the same.

* * *

 Dean asked Hannah Abbott to the ball the next night in the Great Hall at dinner. Seamus’ mouth was a tight line as he watched his best mate over at the Hufflepuff table, as he watched her ears turn pink and the corners of her lips turn up in surprise, as he saw her wrap her arms around Dean as a confirmation.

“We’re the only ones left who haven’t gotten anyone—” Ron Weasley’s voice carried up the stairs later, when they had gone back to Gryffindor tower after dinner.

Seamus punched his pillow repeatedly as Dean washed up. He wasn’t imagining his fist hitting Hannah, but rather it slamming into his own face; someone needed to knock some sense into him. He _shouldn’t_ be upset about Dean finding a date and he _shouldn’t_ stare when Dean stretches in class at that tiny patch of skin that shows for only a second. He shouldn’t be having any of these thoughts about his best mate; his father had ingrained that into his brain when he was just a boy. Nothing good ever became of—

“If you’re trying to bulk up, I don’t think a pillow’s the best thing to punch,” he heard Dean say, a grin in his voice as he walked up to Seamus’ four-poster.

“What would you know about bulking up? Maybe I’ll punch your lanky ass instead,” Seamus retorted with a laugh, jumping at his best friend. They tumbled to the floor, Dean grunting at the impact.

Though more muscular than Dean, Seamus soon found himself hissing as his back met the cold wood floor. Dean was panting above him, eyes fixated on Seamus’ lips as he tried and failed to form a sentence with their bodies in such close proximity.

Dean was still staring at his lips.

 _Dean_. His best mate.

 _Oh, fuck_ , Seamus thought.

His eyes dragged back up to Seamus’, and they could both feel the rapid beat of each other’s hearts.

“I think I’ve just proven I know my fair share about bulking up,” Dean muttered, eyes crinkling with a smile. Seamus’ eyes flickered down to Dean’s mouth as he spoke, and cursed himself for putting himself in this position. They were close enough that Seamus could lean up and brush his lips against the pulse throbbing in his mate’s dark neck.

“Oi, I let you win,” he said instead, forcing a laugh and attempting to wriggle his way out from under Dean. The movement only pressed their bodies closer together, and his mouth fell open at the contact. Dean uttered a gasp, and their eyes were both darkening fast. Seamus hurriedly flopped back onto the floor, putting two inches of space between them knowing full well it wouldn’t do much to stop the inevitable from happening.

Dean leaned his head down, so their faces, their _lips_ , were mere millimeters apart. One of his hands, which had been pressing Seamus’ wrist to the floor, came up to rest on the side of Seamus’ face. Seamus stopped breathing. Dean bit his lip, and closed the distance between them—

“Well we’ve got that sorted out now don’t we?” Harry’s voice carried through the door, as well as two sets of footsteps ascending the staircase.

Seamus ripped his other arm out of Dean’s grip before their lips had the chance to meet, and shoved him away. Eyes wide, he stumbled to his feet and took off towards the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he glared at his reflection; eyes swallowed by pupil, cheeks flushed, wrists pink from where Dean’s hands had just been.

He waited until Ron and Harry fell silent before letting himself back into the dormitory quietly. He dared a glance towards Dean’s bed; Dean’s form was visible under the blanket, but seemed too still to actually be asleep. Seamus thought about saying something to him—apologizing, telling him he needed time, _anything_ —but thought better of it and lay down in his four-poster. He was still wide awake long after Dean’s breathing had evened out, trying to figure himself out.

Seamus finally decided that feeling something for Dean couldn’t be bad; they were best mates. No one knew him better. Screw what his old man had said. If Dean still wanted this—whatever _this_ could become—Seamus wouldn’t back down this time.

Dean didn’t mention it in the morning.

* * *

 Lavender wore robes of a deep crimson, with lips to match, while Hannah’s were a sky blue pair she told them were her older sister’s. Seamus’ were also worn, previously belonging to his brother Padraig, the same black as the majority of the students, but with a vest of emerald plaid. Dean’s were standard black, nothing special, but Seamus had to hold his tongue to prevent himself from doing something stupid like complimenting him.

Lavender looked fantastic, and Seamus had to keep reminding himself that. Of course she did—she was rather pretty and she cut a nice figure in her robes; eyes throughout the Great Hall followed her hungrily as they walked off the dance floor to get drinks: blue punch dotted with unmelting snowflakes. Lavender’s hand lingered on his longer than necessary as she pressed his drink to it, but Seamus’ attention was elsewhere.

Many of the boys had long since discarded their jackets and Dean had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt as well, stark white against his dark skin. He lifted Hannah into the air, both laughing as he set her down clumsily.

Seamus took a swig of his punch, turning back to face Lavender who looked expectant. “Sorry?” he spluttered, and she smirked.

“You know, I don’t think the punch was _that_ bad, Finnigan. Maybe the house elves were a bit heavy with the sugar, but not enough to put that sour look on your face.”

Seamus attempted (and failed) a smile and Lavender burst out laughing. She sobered up and inclined her head to the dancefloor behind him, “I’m not blind, either. I can see the way you look at him.”

Seamus’ breath caught in his throat. His pa had told him since he was a babe that man and man was unnatural, and he didn’t need the entire school to beat him the way his pa did when he caught him staring at another boy in the supermarket. Heart beating rapidly, he opened and closed his mouth a few times but came up with nothing.

Lavender’s eyes weren’t filled with pity, but it was close enough. She continued still, “I didn’t think you were stupid, but you don’t seem to notice the way he looks at you either.”

His heart stopped. He choked out, “I d-don’t know what yer talkin’ about, Lavender.”

Smiling sadly, she said, “Professor Trelawney says a war’s coming. You might want to get on that sooner than later.” Lavender brushed her lips across his cheek, and walked away.

Mind reeling, Seamus stood gripping the cup of punch so hard he was surprised it didn’t break. An arm was suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, and he flinched out of the grip.

“You alright there, Seamus?” Dean asked, brows furrowed in concern. Hannah was nowhere to be seen.

“W-where’s Hannah?” Seamus asked, kicking himself for letting a stutter slip out.

Dean shrugged, “She really wanted to go to the ball with Justin, so she went to go find him.”

Anger flared up in Seamus. Hannah was lucky to go to the ball with Dean, anyone would be. “She’s _your_ date,” he said haughtily, “She shouldn’t be going around looking for others when she’s got you right here.”

Chuckling, Dean replied, “It’s alright, mate. It wasn’t anything serious.”

Those words were a prayer to Seamus’ ears. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves, “Can we get outta here?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 “So ‘s there a reason we bailed on the ball? I didn’t even get to try the punch,” Dean asked, still following Seamus. No real destination in mind, Seamus was just looking for somewhere quiet and secluded and not filled with rutting students.

Coming out a bit strangled, Seamus shrugged as they climbed the final staircase, “The house-elves need to take it easy on the sugar.”

They had reached the top of the clock tower, and Dean leaned over the rail to look out the window at the snowy grounds. Whooping with glee, he said, “We’ve got to come up here next time we’re pranking someone. I bet I could dump all this snow straight onto Crabbe’s big head.”

“Can we please not talk about Crabbe’s big head right now?” Seamus muttered, running a hand through his sandy hair.

Taking a step towards him, Dean asked, “So what are we gonna talk about?”

Seamus took a deep breath, “Do you trust me, Dean?”

“’Course I trust you; you’re my best mate!”

“Is that all I am to you?”

Dean didn’t answer for a moment, and Seamus’ eyes fell shut, waiting for the disgust and rejection. Instead, he heard Dean’s quiet answer, “You know it’s not.”

Seamus took a deep breath, “Can I kiss you?”

Eyes still closed out of fear, he missed the way Dean’s eyes lit up.

“’Course you can.”

Seamus’ eyes snapped open, as if expecting Dean to be joking but he was looking at Seamus sincerely, having moved so he was standing right in front of him.

Seamus surged towards Dean, pulling him down so their lips could meet. Their teeth clacked together, noses bumped, and he felt a rumble of laughter in Dean’s chest as his hand slid down to Seamus’ waist.

Breaking away, Seamus shook his head frantically, “I can do better than tha’.”

“What, you been practicing with your pillow?” Dean laughed again, pressing a kiss to Seamus’ forehead.

“Oi, shut up would ya?”

Seamus turned around and backed them up so his own back was pressed against the wall; a shudder ran through him chill from the stone seeping through his chest and Dean’s eyes darkened.

Hands fisted in Dean’s dress shirt, Seamus kissed him again. This time their lips lined up better; his were chapped, but Dean’s were gloriously smooth. It was a hot, wet kiss, far less hesitant than the first. One of Dean’s hands was gripping Seamus’ hip so hard he knew there would be bruises and it sent a thrill through him, knowing that he would have the memory of this very moment imbedded in his skin.

Dean’s other arm was pressed into the stone above Seamus’ head, holding himself steady as Seamus broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He felt rather than saw Seamus hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt, mouth taking his hands’ place a moment later.

“Fuck!” he swore, as Seamus bit down right above his collarbone.

Genuinely concerned, Seamus pulled away; Dean groaned at the sight of him, with his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. “Did I hurt ya?” Seamus asked and kissed the bite, sending a pang straight through to Dean’s core.

Dean loosed a breathy laugh, “Not in a bad way. _Definitely_ not in a bad way.”

Seamus laughed, and resumed making his claim on Dean. Even with his dark completion, he knew full well he would have to keep his shirt buttoned all the way up for the next week, even in the stuffy divination tower, but he let Seamus keep at it until he couldn’t take it any longer.

One hand still gripping Seamus’ hip, he removed the other from the wall and cupped Seamus’ face. Reminiscent of that night in the dormitory a few weeks ago, he saw Seamus swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing.

He captured Seamus’ lips hotly, feeling Seamus’ hands trail up his body and fist in his close cropped hair. Dean bit down on Seamus bottom lip and swiped their tongues together upon entrance, Seamus’ mouth falling open with an audible groan. Their bodies were pressed close, so close that they were only getting harder at the contact with each other.

Suddenly the great clock began chiming around them, startling Seamus to the point where sparks shot out of his fingers, bouncing aimlessly off of Dean’s skin. Their movements stuttered and they broke apart, resting their foreheads together. They counted the chimes to 12, and heard the ruckus of the entirety of the Great Hall emptying into the school below them. They tried to quiet their breathing, but as no one was even thinking of making the trek to the top of the clock tower, they had no reason to worry.

Taking a step back, Dean’s eyes dragged up and down Seamus’ body, pausing a moment to regard the obvious bulge in his pants. He knew for a fact he was hard as well, but still smirked at his friend.

“Got you all worked up, have I?” he asked.

“Oi, shut up. You’re in the same boat, Thomas,” Seamus said, but his face was stuck in a grin.

Dean reached forward to intertwine their hands, and set off down the hallway, pulling Seamus alongside him.

“So,” he asked, “how was that for a Christmas present?”

Seamus snorted, “Best I ever got.”

Feigning mock offence, Dean said, “Oi! I’ll be taking back that signed Moran jersey I gave you this morning, then.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”


	2. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is homophobia in this chapter. Seamus' dad is homophobic, and threatens them via howler.

The newest Educational Decree, Number 31, declared _Boys and Girls are not permitted within 8 inches of each other_.

“Oh no,” Dean cried, throwing a hand across his forehead, “What _ever_ are we to do?

“Oh, shut it,” Seamus replied, laughing as Dean pulled him against his chest. They made their way past the students crowded around the wall of decrees and a grinning Filch high up on his rickety ladder, and into the Great Hall where breakfast has just been served.

Seamus positively moaned at the sight of the layout; the juicy sausages, stacks of toast and Belgian waffles, bowls overflowing with fluffy eggs.

“I am having at least _ten_ of everything on this table,” he told Dean as he threw himself onto the bench, helping himself to heaps of breakfast.

“If you didn’t, I might think someone had stolen your hair, locked you in a magical chest, and taken your place as my short, Irish boyfriend,” Dean said, winking, and Harry shot them a withering look at the mention of the last year’s events; he ignored this, and kissed Seamus before he could start shoving the entire table into his mouth.

Seamus nipped at his bottom lip and pulled away. “I love ya and all,” he said, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth, “bu’ I feel li’ I haven’ eaten in _days_.”

Neville made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “Aw,” but quickly covered any evidence of it with a coughing fit when both Seamus and Dean looked over at him.

“Wonder what Filch is lookin’ at us like that for,” Seamus said, cheeks filled with eggs and gesturing over Dean’s shoulder.

“Probably trying to catch us in the act of delinquency,” Dean said, finally filling his own plate.

“Is tha’ actually a word?”

“I’m positive it is.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” they said in unison.

“‘Delinquency’ is a word as much as ‘disgustingly romantic’ is a phrase that describes the two of you.”

“Aw, Hermione.”

“You really shouldn’t have.”

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes as they began making out, and her eyes followed Filch as he hurried over to Umbridge’s chair at the staff table. He bent down to whisper something in her ear, and her eyes snapped over to the Gryffindor table.

A small explosion distracted Hermione, and she turned away before she could see the sickly grin spread across Umbridge’s face, fixated on Seamus’ flaming pumpkin juice instead.

* * *

 “C’mon Seamus, it’s a complicated spell. Loads of people didn’t get the hang of it right off,” Dean said, slinging an arm across Seamus’ shoulders.

They had just left a DA meeting and were taking an alternate route to the common room. Umbridge had put a group of students together into what she called the Inquisitorial Squad. They’d heard Filch hobbling along the floor above, and had their eyes peeled for Crabbe, who’s sniggering could be heard from across the school.

“You go’ it,” Seamus said, rolling his eyes. Dean had produced a corporeal patronus; a great hound that circled the two of them as they gazed at it, open mouthed. Seamus, however, had produced but wispy silver smoke.

Dean shrugged, “I’m a very light sleeper. Harry has complete conversations with himself when he’s asleep.”

“And I’m no’ a light sleeper?”

“I’m not even sure you’re alive half the time.”

Seamus laughed, and Dean grinned at the sound.  Seamus ran a hand through his gloriously mucked up hair, brushing his fingers against Dean’s arm where it rested. His tie was undone, hanging loose in the typical Seamus Finnigan fashion, and his shirt was untucked and buttoned only to the fourth hole from the top.

Leaning down Dean nosed at a spot behind Seamus’ ear he’d learned drew the most delicious sounds from him; Seamus shuddered, biting his lip to keep quiet, a hiss sneaking past.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, looking up at Dean with a mischievous glint in his cerulean eyes.

 Dean pressed a kiss on Seamus’ throat, whispering, “I think you know _exactly_ what I’m doing.”

“ _I_ think you’re trying to get us caught by the Inquisitorial Squad,” Seamus said, breathing heavily as Dean’s arms encircled him from behind.

“Can’t have that, can we?” Dean murmured, teeth grazing the back of Seamus’ neck. He pulled away and threw a glance in either direction, before pulling open the tapestry that he knew hid a shortcut back to the dormitory.

Seamus’ lips were on his as soon as the tapestry fell shut, pressing him into the side of the passageway with his hands fisted in Dean’s close cropped hair. Positive he had popped the buttons off of Dean’s shirt, Seamus couldn’t care less as he marked up as much of the boy’s skin as he could reach. He made his way lower, nipping at the taut skin of Dean’s abdomen, making him moan into his fist, his other hand tangled in Seamus’ sandy hair. Seamus’ fingers fumbled with the belt, even though he’d done it many a time before.

“No,” Dean gasped, tugging Seamus away from him by his hair; Seamus looked up at him hungrily, rocking back on his heels, and Dean stuttered out, “I w-want to do y-you.”

Seamus licked his lips and let himself be pulled up and shoved against the other wall. Dean’s lips were on his again, and on his earlobe and teeth found his neck as he unbuckled Seamus’ belt. Dean started moving lower and lower, and Seamus had to bite down on his wrist so as to not draw attention to them. The last thing they needed was Goyle barging in while Dean’s lips were around Seamus’ dick.

“Muffliato,” Seamus panted, pulling his wand out of his back pocket.

“Nice thinking, Finnigan,” Dean grinned, before taking Seamus into his mouth entirely.

Seamus’ head hit the wall hard, gasping loud and fast, the only sound in the passageway. He was already so turned on from everything up until now (also, as Hermione would point out, from his erratic hormonal urges that come with puberty), that he knew he wouldn’t last long.

He moaned as Dean pulled away with a pop. Dean licked a stripe up Seamus’ exposed throat as he stood, biting down hard on the shorter boy’s bottom lip as he worked a hand between them. His lips were on Seamus’ for a moment before he broke away, panting into Dean’s shoulder, hands wound tight around Dean’s body as his hips jerked erratically into the taller boy’s grip.

Seamus’ hips stuttered, and he came with a moan, one that he tried muffling by biting hard into Dean’s lean shoulder. Seamus’ head was pressed where Dean’s neck and shoulder met as Dean’s hand snuck into his own trousers.

“Got ya’ real turned on, have I?” Seamus whispered, leaning back so he was against the cool wall again.

Dean only groaned in response, eyes locked on Seamus’, mouth slack as his breathing got heavier. He threw his head back when he reached his climax, one hand gripping himself and the other one clenched on Seamus’ hip.

Their breathing was loud, sated, as they tried to regain enough dignity to make their way to the common room. Bruises were blooming across Seamus’ skin, but Dean knew he wore them like badges and didn’t feel bad.

“You ruined my damn shirt,” Dean complained jokingly, his arm around Seamus’ shoulders again as they stepped into the corridor.

Seamus rolled his eyes, “’m not even takin’ the blame for tha’. ‘t was _your_ idea.”

* * *

 “Seamus, is that your owl?”

“Did you say something, Neville?” Seamus shouted from the lavatory, where he was rinsing the shaving cream off of his face.

Neville appeared in the doorway, face white as a sheet, and he whispered, “Y-your owl, Seamus. It’s got a-a Howler.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Seamus shouldered past him into the dormitory. Neville was right; the Finnigan’s owl Moran was sitting in the middle of his bed, holding a red letter that was just beginning to smoke. He took the Howler from Moran’s beak, and looked down at the return address; his heart dropped as he recognized his father’s handwriting. Mr. Finnigan _never_ wrote.

“Mind giving me a moment alone?” He asked Neville, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Neville did him one better, “I’ll get everyone to clear out as well.”

Seamus nodded his thanks, and Neville left the room. He heard him call out, “Has anyone seen a dungbomb lying around? I think I dropped one in here somewhere.” There were a few answering groans, and the sound of a dozen people clearing the common room.

The Howler was really smoking now, and Seamus took a deep breath to ready himself. He broke the seal; his father’s voice exploded out of the letter, and Seamus dropped it onto the four-poster to cover his own ears.

“—AN’ I’M DIS _GUS_ TED AT WHAT DELORES UMBRIDGE WROTE T’ US ‘BOUT—”

“—NOW IF ‘T WAS A LASS YOU WERE NECKIN’ WITH THAT WOULD BE ONE THING, BUT ANOTHER LAD? UNACCEPTABLE, JIMMY. ABS’LUT’LY DISGUSTEN’—”

“—YOU SHOW YER FACE ‘ROUND THIS HOUSE IF YOU’RE STILL A BLOODY HOMOSEXUAL, BE EXPECTIN’ WORSE THAN A BEATIN’ SON—”

Seamus was on the floor, tears streaming out of his eyes as he pressed hard enough on his ears he hoped he damaged them. His eyes were shut, and at every pause in his father’s screaming he readied himself for a blow that wasn’t coming.

After a while, he realized his father had stopped yelling and he removed his hands; his head ached and his ears rang.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Seamus rolled over to face the doorway where Dean stood, mouth open wide in horror. Seamus tried to speak, but no words came out.

“Seamus?” Dean said, softer than before, and took a step into the room.

Seamus stood, wiping his nose with one hand and picking the Howler up with the other. His voice was hollow when he answered, “Umbridge sent a letter to me da’, and I’m guessing you heard some o’ what he got to say ‘bout it.”

“He threatened to _kill you_ ,” Dean whispered, but Seamus couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Did he? Must’ve missed tha’ part.”

Suddenly, he was so _angry_. He ripped the Howler to shreds, and then the shreds even smaller until the wood floor was littered with red and white scraps. That wasn’t enough. Seamus surged towards the table next to his bed; he cleared it with a swipe, sending his school books and trinkets to the floor with a great _smash!_

“Seamus, stop it!” Dean shouted, his hand a vice on Seamus’ wrist.

Seamus tried to tear his arm out of Dean’s grip to no avail. He threw his arms out, yelling, “Don’t you get it, Dean? My da’ will _kill_ me if I’m gay. He’ll kill me ‘f I’m with ya. Maybe he’ll even kill ya too.”

Dean was shaking his head, but Seamus kept talking before he could get a word out. “Yer the best thing to ever happen t’ me, do ya know tha’? My bes’ fuckin mate, an’ you’re as good as it gets, Dean.”

“So what—you’re just going to give up? You’re gon’ give up on us?,” Dean asked, trying to sound strong but he still faltered at the end.

Seamus sank down on his bed, heaving a deep sigh. “What else am I supposed t’ do?”

It was silent enough that they could hear the faucet dripping in the lavatory. Dean sniffed, sitting down on the bed right next to Seamus. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, his hand intertwining with Seamus’.

Seamus met his eyes; bloodshot blue gazing into steady brown. He choked, “Ye don’ know me da. He’s a man true to his word.” Seamus pulled his hand away from Dean’s, standing up, “I won’ let him touch a hair on yer head, but that means I can’t be with you either.”

He heard Dean stumble to his feet, “Seamus—”

Seamus took a deep breath, “I think you should go.”

It sounded as if the breath was punched out of Dean; Seamus closed his eyes against the sound. He heard Dean’s heavy footfalls as he shuffled out of the room, wincing as he slammed the door behind him.

“Dammit!” Seamus snarled, slamming a foot into his nightstand; flames shot out of the drawers, but he let them burn him as he panted. He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hands up to press against his eyes.

* * *

 Seamus came back from Christmas holiday barely even looking like himself. Dean had to excuse himself on the train to puke up his breakfast in the bathroom, and tried to ready himself for the sight when he returned to the car, praying it had all been a cruel trick of his imagination.

It wasn’t.

Seamus’ face was broken and bleeding, the newest bruises on his cheeks and peeking up over the collar of his shirt still a nasty shade of purple. The rest of his skin that wasn’t actively bruised was a sickly yellow, obviously healing. His lip was split in at least 3 spots, and there were small incisions across his forehead—as if someone had thrown a glass bottle at his head, and he hadn’t been quick enough to get out of the way.

He wasn’t meeting Dean’s eyes, but that didn’t make it any easier on either boy.

Seamus hadn’t even tried to put up a fight, by the looks of it. He came back to Hogwarts with split knuckles after almost every break, and Dean _knew_ he was strong enough to fight back. The fight had gone out of him that day he received the Howler, the day he gave up on the only thing that was pure and true in his life.

Instead of picking up the pieces of him, Dean ordered a bucket of ice and cloth, and spent the rest of the train ride trying to soothe the pain.

When the train pulled into the station, Seamus finally made eye contact with Dean; the joy and the _life_ that had once shone through his blue eyes were reduced to nothing more than dull emptiness that broke Dean’s heart.

Professor McGonnagal took one look at Seamus and ordered him into her office. Dean and Neville waited for him outside, and saw a school owl fly out the door carrying a rather large red letter.

“He won’t be going back to that home again until I am sure it’s safe, do you understand me?” McGonagall said through clenched teeth.

Neville piped up, raising the hand that wasn’t holding his _mimbulus mimbletonia_ into the air, “My gran would let him stay with us. That is, if you write to her. I’m not really good at writing letters to her; she’s intimidating, you see…”

“Consider it done, Longbottom,” McGonagall replied shortly. She sent Seamus to the hospital wing, against his wishes, and swept back into her office, closing the door with a bang.

“Thank you, Neville,” Dean said quietly, after Seamus had walked away and they were making their way towards the common room.

Neville shrugged, “I’d like to think you lot would do it for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/135281129288/thou-shalt-not-covet)


	3. Year 6

The rain splattered on the window, background noise to the vicious storm brewing in Seamus’ mind. He was twirling his wand between his fingers, ignoring the sparks that shot out from time to time as well as Hermione and Neville’s hushed conversation from either side of him.

Suddenly, the portrait hole swung open, revealing a flushed and disheveled Dean. He clambered through and threw himself into an armchair next to the fire.

“What happened to you?” Seamus asked with raised brows, but he could guess well enough; he recognized the glazed-over look in Dean’s eyes, reminiscent of all the times it was the two of them sneaking around the school, finding empty classrooms and broomclosets to have their way with each other in. Seamus ignored the ache in his chest at the memories and sent sparks in Dean’s direction. “Well?” he asked.

“Harry and Ron stumbled across us,” Dean groaned, rubbing a hand down his face as he stared into the fire. Seamus was used to the dull pain that settled in his chest, when he thought of Dean and Ginny together. He wished he could scream; maybe it would make it all go away

“If you look at that fire hard enough, you’re going to burst into flames yourself,” Seamus said instead, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Dean shot him a glare, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. _Wallow_.”

“Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked, shifting so her legs were draped across Seamus’ lap.

Dean sighed, “I believe she and Ron are having words with each other.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Ronald needs to accept that he has zero control over her life.”

Neville muttered, “I don’t think he ever will.”

Seamus was sure the conversation continued, but a buzzing overtook his ears once again; ever since his father had beaten him so harshly the previous year, he was hard of hearing on his right side. Neville, who was situated on that side, was well aware of this; Seamus knew he would get his attention if the conversation pertained to him.

Hermione held out a puce colored hat, one that she’d been knitting since they returned to the common room after dinner. “What do you think?” she asked.

Seamus feigned deliberation for a moment, hand closing around her ankle, “Not bad. Still think you should stick to socks, though.”

She wiggled her sky blue toes at him, glaring. “Sod off,” she said, but without venom, “You’re getting a hat from me for Christmas, and you’re going to _love_ it.”

Seamus snorted, “I’m sure I will ‘Mione.”

He tickled her foot, sending her squealing; she jammed her free foot into his side until they were both panting with laughter, and he released her.

Seamus felt a tap on his arm and he turned to Neville.

“You didn’t happen to take notes on Wendelin the Weird, did you?” he asked.

Seamus chuckled, “ _Actually_ , I did. She let herself be repeatedly burned at the stake; what’s not to love?” He reached into his bag for his notes, handing them to Neville, who muttered his thanks.

Seamus’ eyes flickered over to Dean, and he froze; there was an uncharacteristic hardness in Dean’s eyes, which were fixated on Hermione’s legs, having made their way into Seamus’ lap once again. Dean met his eyes after a moment and looked away, scowling.

Uninterested in a fight with Dean, Seamus stretched his arms out above his head with a groan. Shifting Hermione’s legs off of him, he stood and bid everyone a goodnight.

He went straight to the lavatory, where he ran a quick shower for himself, if only to clear his thoughts. The water ran in rivulets down his body, catching in the crevices that hadn’t been there the year before; the dip in where his ribs hadn’t fully healed, at a time where he was desperate to prove his strength and perseverance to himself.

Seamus shut off the shower, grabbing his robe from its hook and wrapping it around himself. He had a habit of standing in front of the mirror while he dried off, something that had always made his mother peg him as _vain_.

He noticed Dean’s reflection in the mirror, regarding him exasperatedly, “I’ve been callin’ you for ages.”

“Sorry,” Seamus said, drying his hair off with a towel in the doorway, “didn’t hear ya’. My ear’s still a bi’ messed up.”

Dean’s brows drew together, “Still? I’d thought the hearing loss’s gone away.”

Seamus shook his head.

“Isn’t there a spell or a potion that can fix it? Maybe St. Mungo’s—” he demanded, until Seamus cut him off, a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, Dean. Jus’ somethin’ I’ve got to deal with now,” he said with a sad smile, squeezing Dean’s shoulder before moving past him.

Dean was quiet for a while, still standing in front of the doorway. He turned around, face still a mask of concern, and Seamus opened his mouth to say something; he’s cut off before he can even form a sentence.

“Is there something going on between you and Hermione?” Dean blurted out, eyes finding Seamus’.

Seamus threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“Me an’ ‘Mione?” Seamus managed, still laughing, “Merlin, no.”

Dean frowned, “But I thought…”

“We’re friends. But if you can’t see how in love with Ron she is, then you’re as blind as he is.”

“ _Weasley_? No.”

Seamus nodded. Suddenly there was a great stomping up the stairs followed by another set of footsteps, and Dean turned away quickly to his four-poster.

The door slammed open and Ron stood in the doorway, face red and eyes murderous. Dean was suddenly very interested in the towel Seamus had left at the foot of his bed, and retreated to the safety of the lavatory.

Ron and Harry didn’t speak to their dorm mates, nor to each other; instead, they silently climbed into their respective beds, Ron snoring within minutes.

Both Seamus and Harry lay awake that night, pining for the things they couldn’t have.

* * *

 “ _Don’t_ push me, Dean. You’re always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own,” Ginny Weasley said haughtily, sending a glare over her shoulder at her boyfriend.

Dean gaped, “I _didn’t_ push you! You’ve only told me that a thousand times before.”

Ginny’s glare didn’t lessen; rather it intensified. She grabbed his arm and pivoted, dragging him right out of the portrait hole they had just walked through.

“Where—” Dean started, as she pulled him down the staircase.

Ginny snapped, exiting onto the floor below, “I don’t want to have an argument with you in front of the entire house.” She shoved the first classroom door open, glancing pointedly inside until Dean took the hint and walked in.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Dean asked crossly.

“I could ask _you_ the same question about the past few weeks.”

Dean’s expression was one of great confusion, and Ginny sighed, exasperated.

“Look—what we have going here isn’t a bad thing. It’s fantastic sometimes, but other times it’s just tedious. And—” Ginny paused, looking at her hands, which she had clasped together tightly. She glanced up, eyes meeting Dean’s, “maybe we’re just using each other as a substitute for what we really want.”

Dean was silent, seeming to not comprehend her meaning. Ginny opened her mouth to reiterate when—

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Ginny bit her lip. “I am,” she said.

“Because you want to be with Harry? I thought you were over him,” Dean said.

“I’ve had a crush on Harry Potter for a long time. I tried to get over that, and I did for a while,” she emphasized, “but, I suppose those kinds of feelings don’t go away all that easily. And I know you’re not over Seamus.”

Dean scoffed, “Please, Seamus doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”

“And you _really_ believe that.”

Dean fumbled for words, running a hand through his hair. He sighed, “I don’t _know_.”

“Do you believe _this_ ,” she asked, gesturing between them, “is good enough?”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ —”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

Dean regarded her silently. He closed his eyes, “All I know is that I’ve loved two people in my life. The first broke up with me to protect me, which I consider sort of _offensive_ as I am quite capable of protecting myself, and now you are breaking up with me because you think I should be with the first person.”

Ginny grimaced, “Yes. That sounds about right.”

Dean supposed it would hurt more if they continued their escapade of lies. Ginny was right, however; it was good while it lasted.

“Alright,” Dean said finally.

* * *

 Seamus knew that getting his hopes up was futile and pointless, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing when Dean’s fingers brushed his in Charms weeks after he and Ginny had ended things, or when he had to lean across Dean to grab his powdered wormwood in Potions, or when he caught Dean’s eyes in the common room at night.

It was pointless.

It was simply too late.

Ginny and Harry were together now, and Dean didn’t seem to be remotely over her; he’d shattered a glass so hard the first time they kissed, that he had to go see Madam Pomfrey in the middle of the night. Ginny was one of the best girls Seamus knew, but breaking Dean Thomas’ heart made Seamus hate her as much as he hated himself sometimes.

Not often; he hated himself enough that there usually wasn’t enough room for anything else.

Dean was the only exception; wiggling his way into Seamus’ heart, in those rare moments it seemed they could go back in time—back to when things were right and easy.

“Seamus.”

Dean’s voice cut through the darkness like a knife, and Seamus struggled against the hold sleep had on him.

“Dean,” he mumbled in response. He heard no reply so he cracked an eye open; Dean was standing beside his own bed, wide eyes glowing in the light of the moon. Seamus sat up, suddenly alert, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Dean stumbled towards him as if he were drunk, hands finding Seamus’ and holding on tight. Seamus’ breath caught in his throat, and he found he couldn’t look away from Dean’s dark fingers wrapped around his own thin, pale wrists.

“W-what are you doing?” he asked, not daring to look up.

One of Dean’s hands detached itself, trailing its way up Seamus’ arm and across his collarbone before finding purchase cupped around his jaw. He tilted his head up and Seamus finally met his eyes; he was hyperaware of Dean’s hands against his neck and on his wrist, of the path his fingers had taken burning with the fire of not being touched, not being _loved_ for so long.

Almost as if he could read his mind, Dean whispered, “You know I never stopped—I _never_ stopped loving you.”

Seamus felt like he was drowning and coming up for air at the same time, lost in the darkness of Dean’s eyes and never wanting him to let go. He loosed a breath, “I love you more and more every day and I ruined the only chance I deserved.”

Dean was shaking his head fervently, “You deserve so much— _so much_ —more than you’ve gotten.”

If this was a dream, Seamus never wanted to wake. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as Dean came so close that they shared the same breaths.

Seamus’ eyes flickered between Dean’s eyes and lips, and he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Dean replied, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Dean closed the distance between them. Seamus breathed a sigh of relief as their lips met, slowly and chastely, as if they had all the time in the world. He wrapped an arm around Dean, pulling him closer still as if he could not bear the distance between their two souls.

They broke apart, faint smiles on their faces. Seamus could only smell Dean, could only see Dean; for a moment, all was well.

In the next, the night sky lit up, the dark mark rippling across it like a stain, and the screams began.

* * *

 “Thought I heard you an’ your mother havin’ a row in the entrance hall this morning.”

Seamus looked up at Dean from his bed, noting the smile on the taller boy’s face. “Tha’ sounds abou’ right.”

Dean threw himself down on the bed next to Seamus, chuckling, “There was a lot of cursing.”

“That’s me mam for ya’.”

They were alone in the dormitory, ignoring the lure of the grounds on the hot summer’s day. If they had looked out the window, they would’ve seen Neville and Professor Sprout waded out into the Black Lake, probably collecting herbs and plants even though there were no exams left to take. Neville didn’t notice a tentacle wrap itself around him until he was yanked further out, disappearing under the water; he came up choking with laughter.

They were both quiet, simply content with listening to the other draw breaths, fingers twitching millimeters apart. Dean rolled onto his side to face Seamus, and asked, “So are you back living with them?” _With him?_ “After everything that’s happened?”

Seamus shrugged, simply stating, “Me mam’s go’ herself a nice righ’ hook.”

“Huh,” Dean said, considering this new information. His hand had found its way across Seamus, clasping his waist and rubbing a thumb along Seamus’ bare torso; Seamus shivered.

Seamus muttered, “It’s better tha’ bein’ under Mrs. Longbottom’s roof; now _tha’s_ a scary woman.”

Dean laughed, grinning when Seamus let out a huff of laughter as well. Dean shifted, his hand drifting up to Seamus’ collarbone—where he traced lazy circles with the pads of his fingers.

“It feels like everything’s about to change.”

Seamus looked over at Dean, lips forming a frown. “Because of Dumbledore?”

Dean shrugged, “Partially. It seems like that’ll set other things in motion.”

“Like wha’?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted, “but I don’t have a good feeling about it at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Apologies for the late upload--I was going through a breakup (which is ironic since this is all post breakup)  
> [Read it on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/137055106158/thou-shalt-not-covet)

**Author's Note:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/135122847483/thou-shalt-not-covet)


End file.
